


Take This Cup From Me

by Akallabeth



Category: Chalice - Robin McKinley
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 02:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17337248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akallabeth/pseuds/Akallabeth
Summary: Mirasol's predecessor did not serve under an easy Master.But she did not mean for any of this happen.





	Take This Cup From Me

The Chalice's apprentice died six weeks after the old Master. She was a second cousin on my father's side, fifty years old, apprenticed forty years to the Chalice, and a grandmother twice over. Her name was Illyna. I knew her by sight, but never really spoken to her.

My family is all House: generations of gardeners, housemen, and equerries married to generations of housewomen, cooks, and scullions. We're long in the demesne, though, and known to the land. My mother's grandfather was Clearseer, in his time, and her sister declined the honor of serving as Talisman (she has a true gift for confectionery, and surprised everyone by turning down an apprenticeship to the Talisman in favor of practicing her art in the House stillroom). Father's family has had a Sunbringer and two Weatheraugurs within living memory, but the one everyone remembers is his eldest sister: Nara, forty years the Chalice of the Willowlands.

When Illyna died (alone, suddenly, in the afternoon sunshine in the garden outside her room), the earthlines in the demesne responded. Not with the violence that marks the passing of a Master or Chalice, but with sorrow all the same, for one who knew them, and worked with them.

I was in the House, changing linens in the Arch Prelate's room with the dubious “help” of our newest Housegirl, when it happened. The floor seemed to shift and groan under my feet, as though the earth beneath the House was weeping. It was nothing so dramatic as happened six weeks before, when the Master finally succumbed to the pneumonia which he'd battled all winter. Then, the whole world seemed to writhe and wail, bereft of a master it had known and heeded for over three decades. All the same, I feared some misfortune had befallen our demesne—some injury to the new Master, non-fatal, or at least muffled by shorter association to the land? Or had some mischance come to the Chalice? She was somewhat above eighty, I knew (nearly twenty years my father's senior).

At any rate, I made the fatal mistake of reporting to the Head Houseman, leaving May to struggle with the bolsters alone. I'd only thought to help—to run for a healer, or locate a needed Circle Member, or fetch wine for the Master and his advisers while they handled the emergency. 

Instead, when I entered the Head Houseman's Pantry (after the perfunctory knock Houseservants offer when speed trumps elegance), I found myself face-to-face with the new Master.

The new, young master, who made everyone feel ever-so-slightly ill at ease. As though they expected punishment, without knowing when or why it might be forthcoming. I didn't like the look in his eye, which evaluated even as it dismissed. To him, it seemed, we were all unworthy.

Of course, years of training took over, and I murmured “Master”, and sank into a full curtsy, right there in the doorway. He waved me off with a gesture (Houseservants learn quickly to see while keeping our eyes downcast), but as I scrambled out of his way, I caught something of a new expression: a change in the calculation.

I didn't trust it.

Kerin, the Head Houseman (a third cousin once removed on my mother's side, ten years older than the Master and starting to lose his hair) was standing behind his worktable, as he had doubtless done through the whole interview.

“Yes, Arla?”

“I...” After nearly running into the Master, I couldn't exactly say I felt the earthlines change and abandoned my duties to come help. The master was just here, and would have given orders if he needed us. My timing was obvious, but nonetheless, calling attention to one's attunement with the demesne always looked like an attempt at aggrandizement—or at least presumption, that leaders would require the help of someone like me. 

“I was just finishing the second-floor bedrooms, and wondered if any of the guest accommodations should be prepared.”

He knew I was lying. If there were any guests expected, he'd have told the staff during breakfast, or sent word once the guest's coming was known.

“No. That will not be necessary. Just air them as usual, and then dust the public rooms. Start with the main hall and Circle Chamber.” In the likely event that the Circle will be consulting sooner rather than later.

I did as I was bid. 

I was a housewoman. 

And when the beds were truly made, and the lower rooms dusted, I returned to servants' hall, and the piles of clean linen coming in from the washlines. I didn't linger at Chamber door, making up minor tasks to overhear the counsel. Didn't see my kinswoman upholding a mourning cup of dull silver, her head bent in grief, but her back upright in defiance of age. Didn't hear the Master propose moving quickly to find a new apprentice for the elderly Chalice. Didn't observe the Circle's feeble protests before they acceded to the Master's wishes. 

Didn't expect Bela, Kerin's wife, to find me in the linen cupboards, with instructions to present myself in the Circle Chamber.

And I certainly did not disobey a direct order from Master and Circle.

**Author's Note:**

> I found this draft in my files (along with an absurdly detailed headcanon for how the timeline might have worked to leave the long-serving and well-respected Nara with a weak and recently-chosen successor). It was intended as the beginning for a longer piece, but we'll see if I can find the threads again. Character tags and archive warnings/ratings to updated if and when this happens.


End file.
